"Look, I already told you—I don’t know anything about the money." Jake leaned back in the metal chair, his cuffed hands resting on the table. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glare on his scuffed leather jacket. Across from him, Detective Martinez tapped her pen against the notepad, her dark eyes locked on his. "Funny," she said, her voice low. "Because your prints are all over the bag it was in."

Jake had known Martinez for years—not well, but enough to recognize the sharp angles of her face, the way her dark hair was pulled into a tight ponytail that framed her high cheekbones. She was lean but strong, her fitted blazer hinting at the toned arms beneath. Her lips, painted a muted red, curved into a faint smirk as she leaned forward, her blouse dipping just enough to reveal the edge of a silver pendant. She smelled faintly of coffee and something floral, a contrast to the stale air of the interrogation room.

Jake shifted in his seat, the chains clinking softly. "You know how it is, Martinez. I touch a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I know what’s inside." She tilted her head, studying him like a puzzle she was one piece away from solving. "Funny," she repeated, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Because the bag also had blood on it. And your buddy? He’s not answering his phone." Jake froze, his jaw tightening. Martinez smiled. "Let’s try this again."